


the times and tribulations of the pirate cassidy

by eckarius



Category: Preacher (TV), Reign (TV)
Genre: Action & Romance, Assassination Plot(s), Card Games, Crossover, Drinking & Talking, F/M, Fist Fights, Government Conspiracy, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, Melodrama, Partners to Lovers, Pirates, Slow Burn, Taverns, Treason, we gotta get that slow burn somehow, yeah there’s some bits in here that i don’t understand either
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-06 14:04:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17941088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eckarius/pseuds/eckarius
Summary: Proinsias Cassidy is a pathetic excuse for a pirate, cheating at cards just to keep a mug of beer in his hand. However, he is given the opportunity to be a Scottish hero and defend Queen Mary alongside her bodyguard and his new friend, Lord Bothwell.





	the times and tribulations of the pirate cassidy

Cassidy is used to having trade deals go sour. In fact, it’s just common, given how shite he is at making deals. Though, he’s never been chased out of the country over one of his haphazard plans, until tonight. Cassidy can barely tell if his ship has hit the port, he throws the anchor down even though it nearly throws his back out along with it. He’s huffing and groaning as he finds himself on land, stumbling around through clusters of people and horses and carriages.

All grimacing eyes are on him, some more shocked than disgusted, yet he can’t tell the difference when he hasn’t slept in two days, and he’s been fighting off unconsciousness all day. He falls into a building, one which takes him a bit too long to figure out is a tavern.

Though, the atmosphere is the first friendly one he’s found in a while. It’s likely not to last, yet he can’t shy away from a beer and a game or two of cards. Cassidy doesn’t remember how he ended up at a table with a series of lords, all throwing down cards and hoping that at least one of them can take the ten-coin-loot in the middle of the table. And he’s fairly certain that he can cheat his way to those coins. He tries to sneak looks at the men’s cards, it’s easiest to see the cards of the men beside him, yet they refuse to let him peak. Despite Cassidy’s obvious intentions to swindle them, the energy amongst the six or seven of them was quite jubilant. Like they’d accepted Cassidy into their well-knit gang, accepting him as one of their own.

Which is what makes the sudden turn against Cassidy all the more shocking. He blacks out while on his feet, outside of the tavern and holding aloft his sword, threatening one of the men at the table. Whichever man it was, he didn’t know. He couldn’t even tell each of them apart, they simply blended together in his memory.

And just like that, he’s groaning himself awake, his cheek pressed against a wet hay bed. He glances round, grunting as he slips his hands beneath his heavy body, lifting himself up and wobbling as he does so. He’s chilly and damp, his clothes wrinkled (yet, that was nothing uncommon for him) and stinking of alcohol. Cassidy finds himself sitting beside a water trough, tipped over onto its side, water still staining the wood deep and red. When he stands up, he stirs the mud beneath the hay, nearly slipping and falling onto his arse. Again, nothing too bizarre for him. Ending up in a horse stable was more common than ending up in a bed with multiple beautiful women, though with that syphilis plague going about, he’s quite okay not ending up in bed with anyone.

Cassidy finds a mirror in the stable, quite honestly it looks like it was stolen by a stable hand, much too heavy and expensive-looking to have ever belonged to someone who shoveled horse shite. He tries to fix himself up, brush his hair into some kind of presentable style with his fingers, wash away the mud and the blood from his scratches and cuts with what remains of the water in the trough. Within a few minutes, his face looks like it did two days ago.

He steps out into the bright sunshine, mid-spring is the weather he tolerates best. The cool breeze rushing through town square manages to dry his clothes, but he doesn’t freeze half-to-death. The sun does burn his eyes, he forgot to let them adjust, now he sees massive green blotches wherever he looks.

Cassidy wanders for a short while, looking all around the small village before returning back to the stables, unsure where to go from here. He can’t locate the port, no matter where he goes. Maybe he did wander far from his ship, yet he can’t say he wants to travel to every sea-adjacent village to search for it. Cassidy leans against the stables, weighing his options.

While many people pass him by, a man passes him and stops, coming back over to him. The man is better-dressed than Cassidy, he only notices because he’s adjusting his leather vest.

“Hello, mate,” Cassidy greets him (quite casually, might he add), yet the man glares at him. He has his fingers on the hilt of his dagger, avoiding the massive sword slung on his other hip.

“Do you not remember last night?” He’s grimacing at Cassidy, his gaze putting pressure on him to answer to this madman who’s about to put a blade to his throat.

Cassidy shakes his head. “Can’t say I do. Do yeh want to catch me up to speed?”

The man fakes a laugh, though he finds a way to still make it sound sincere. “Look, you attempted to duel me last night after you lost our game, drunk off your arse, might I add. You proceeded to mock how I held my sword, then ran away to these stables.” He gestures with one hand, still glowering at Cassidy. “Do you wish to apologise or would you like a proper duel?”

Cassidy raises his hands to his sides, chuckling gently.

“Nah, yeh look like a good fighter. Better than me, at least.” He tries to lighten the mood, and he gets the slightest tug of a smile from the man, making him feel successful.

“So what are you doing waving me down like that? I have more important business to attend to.” He glances between the inn he came out of, and Cassidy. The hostility is fading from his eyes, simply being replaced with bemused indifference.

Cassidy smiles. “Do yeh have any idea where I could eat for free? I lost all me money to one of yeh.”

The man dips his hand into a pocket on his vest, pulling out a small satchel, jingling it in front of him. “You’re not a born card player.” He places it back in his pocket. “But, the innkeeper’s wife makes a lovely loaf of bread. And she wouldn’t dare charge a tenant.”

Cassidy sits at the dining table, genuinely impressed by the food he’s been offered. He takes slices of bread, eggs, and cuts of bacon. The man takes about the same, and he neglects to say anything to him for a few moments. So, he has to fill the silence.

“What do yeh plan to do with me money?” Cassidy grins, only to convey that he’s not upset with him. He can’t be mad at him if he helped Cassidy get fed.

The man laughs quietly, glancing up from his fork to Cassidy. “It’s not much, but perhaps I can buy a quarter of an acre. I’ll place a plaque beside the front door, dedicating my home to the money you lost to me.”

Cassidy smiles, placing his cheek on his hand.

“I’d be honoured, mate.” He laughs, his eyes crinkling as he watches the man warm up to him. It’s not surprising, his one true skill is his charm. Cassidy has always been a charmer, and it was the only thing his mother ever told him he was good at.

The man grins at Cassidy, ignoring his breakfast in favour of continuing their conversation.

“How did you end up here?” He takes a quick swig of beer, it makes a satisfying thump when it hits the table. “You aren’t the type to willingly come here.”

Cassidy shrugs, leaning on his elbow and prodding at his plate with his fork. “Why do yeh say that? Can’t a man just sail to Scotland without any reason?”

The man shrugs right back, a smirk curling at one corner of his lips. “Aren’t we becoming defensive?”

Cassidy likes his smirk. It doesn’t look demeaning, like when most people tug their lips like that. It looks sincere, which throws Cassidy for a loop. But, he doesn’t want to come right out and admit to being a conman. He doesn’t want to have this man’s sword pointed at his chest again, after everything he’s managed to achieve so far.

“No. I just don’t want yeh to know that piracy is what led me here.” He smirks right back, putting on a teasing tone, in hopes that will lead him to believe it’s just a playful joke.

And the man reads it as such. Or, he catches on and decides not to tell him anything. “Oh, my. That’s fascinating. Did you pillage towns and burn them to the ground? You must have stolen that money, correct?” He mimics Cassidy’s elbow-leaning, his smirk only growing.

Cassidy nods, chuckling. “But of course. I’m just a scroungy little pirate, who you just happened to take pity on.”

“Well, that cannot be good. Not when I work for the Queen, she would never allow me to give charity to a lousy pirate.” His eyes sparkle a bit, and Cassidy is sure his are doing just the same, tenfold.

“There’s no way she’d allow it.” Cassidy laughs, it’s not a controlled chuckle, instead a high-pitched giggle. “But here yeh are, treating me to a meal. That’s real luvely of yeh.”

The man nods, holding out his hand. “And to whom do I owe the pleasure of treating this meal to?”

Cassidy holds his hand out, as well, taking the man’s and shaking it. “Cassidy.”

“Charmed.” The man’s shake is firm and friendly. “I’m Lord Bothwell. Do you not have a title, Cassidy?”

Cassidy shakes his head at Lord Bothwell, “Just Cassidy.”

“Just Cassidy, a  _ luvley _ name, indeed.” He mimics how Cassidy pronounced the word, and it makes him chuckle, very quietly.

Their conversation continues as they finish their meals, though it’s mostly banter and laughing, nothing Cassidy can say is important. Unfortunately, Lord Bothwell, who insists that Cassidy simply call him “Bothwell,” is called to the Queen’s throne. Some security nonsense, something about her husband, Cassidy doesn’t catch everything that the man who came to him says.

Bothwell thanks the innkeeper’s wife for their meal, and thanks Cassidy for the conversation. “I hope that the next time we meet I won’t be pointing my sword at you, Cassidy.”

“Same regards to you,” he responds casually. There’s some sailor joke he would have responded with, yet he didn’t feel comfortable making a joke about erections in front of the innkeeper’s elderly wife and a man Cassidy hasn’t even said a word to. That’s new for him, interestingly enough.

Cassidy takes his plates to the innkeeper’s wife, named Abigail, and helps her clean their plates before he leaves for his ship. She asks him to return sometime, that she enjoyed their conversation. Cassidy doesn’t say much, only saying “I’ll come back if yeh’ll have me,” which she more than agrees to.

———

When Cassidy does manage to find his ship, it’s like he’s been searching for ages, utterly unaware that it was only a ten minute walk from the inn and the stables.

His ship is a 20-foot-tall, deep-coloured maiden, with a sail he’d inherited from his past crew from when he was a child. He even inherited her,  _ The Silk Queen _ , from his past crew, led by a man who used the ship primarily to trade exotic goods.

He climbs aboard her, jumping onto the deck and searching round for his crew. Right now, he’s stuck with two crew mates, both of whom just wanted in on the pirate gig because it sounded fun. For them, it’s simply drinking whisky to excess and singing sea tunes, nothing more. It’s not like Cassidy wants to tell them to take this more seriously, since the most he does as a “pirate” is disrupt trade routes and steal goods to sell at triple their original price to ignorant (but rich) buyers. And somehow he’s evaded capture and prison, despite all of this.

“Cartwright, Esby!” He calls across the ship, eventually drifting down to the cargo hull and finding the both of them sling into the floor like wet clothes, empty bottles of fine whisky gifted to them by an Irish noble who got them, supposedly, from Queen Mary as a goodwill gift. It was even debatable that the man was Irish nobility, but Cartwright wholeheartedly believed him and took the whisky anyway.

Cassidy shrugs off his crew mates, taking the empty bottles and placing them in the captain’s quarters, a cold, dank little office and bedroom that he could faintly turn around in without stepping on maps piled to the ceiling, rolling down to the floor, or silk rugs that couldn’t be sold due to minor damage, et cetera. He sets the bottles onto the crate beside his bed, a little cot with a scratchy quilt his mother made him when he was five. He searches his cozy room for a new pair of trousers and a shirt, eventually finding something that hadn’t been recently doused in water, and he gets the first brush of warmth he’s had since he stepped out into the sun earlier this morning. And the warmth from his breakfast conversation with Bothwell, of course, but he didn’t quite count that as genuine.

———

As per usual with Cassidy, he is back in the tavern every night he’s stuck here. No one has found them yet, so why bother leaving now? He’s flirted with maidens every night, all of which throw his drinks at him, yet he still thinks it’s fun. Eventually, his lines will work. Maybe those women are all just prudish, but he’ll find a rough woman somewhere in this sea of “refined maidens,” and he’ll consider this excursion a success.

Tonight is no exception. He teases a bubbly little blonde, her chest a few sizes too big for her dress and bouncing along with her hair when Cassidy makes any comment at her. She seems young, like she’s snuck her way in here with her older brother and had her first sip of beer (courtesy of Cassidy, of course).

“I’ve got me a ship in the port back that way,” he slurs, gesturing with his thumb. The girl holds onto his arm, giggling, her eyes big and curious.

“I’d love to see your ship, Mr. Cassidy.” Her voice is so high and clear, it hurts his ears to listen to. “Do you wish me to see it?”

He pats the girl on her shoulder, waving with his free hand for another drink. “Perhaps, luv. But yer father wouldn’t want that, would he?”

He’s noticed a man back at the card table, the one that none of the lords have been circled around for days now, glancing back to them every few moments. His mouth is scrunched up into a bizarre scowl, he has no doubt that this haggard old man is indeed her father.

She looks back to the man at the card table, giggling loudly. “No, silly! That’s my husband.” She smacks his arm gently, her face flushing pink. “But,” she whispers as she leans in closer to him. “He wouldn’t mind if we took a look at your ship.”

Cassidy’s eyebrow raises up his forehead, he highly doubts this. “I’m not taking yeh if yer planning anything.”

She traces circles on his arm with her finger, her nail scratching lightly against his skin. “Well, I was planning something. I’ll tell you outside.”

She stands up from the bar, grinning and slipping out into the dark. She tells him to “come hither” with her finger, which he reluctantly follows. He’s expecting her husband to follow, he gets drawn into the stables and beaten, robbed by the old man, all while the girl shrieks and giggles. Cassidy still follows, despite this. Another beating, one while he was conscious, would spice up the monotony.

He meets her outside the tavern, she’s leaning against the stables, grinning and puffing her chest out. He can see her teeth faintly chattering, yet he says nothing to her about the chill.

“So what is yer plan?” He asks. She grabs his arm, draws him against her with no effort. She giggles up at him, her smile almost too big for her face.

“Well, my husband has issues.” Her hand slips down his chest, hovering above his trousers. “You know the kind.”

Her eyes look almost black, even with the street lamps illuminating bits of her face. Though, Cassidy doesn’t stop her.

“He does have one foot in the grave,” he murmurs, not trying to hide his indifference.

“Stop it!” She slaps his arm again, but she tries to keep the tone of their conversation hot and heavy. “He wants me to get pregnant by another man, he wants a child to complete our family.”

Cassidy hasn’t been approached with an offer to commit adultery that both partners were aware of, yet it is an enticing offer.

“And yeh don’t expect me to be the child’s father? I don’t have to be in yer lives?” Cassidy’s hands begin exploring, along with hers. She nods boisterously, now drawing him in for a kiss.

“Please help me out, Mr. Cassidy. My husband is upset that we’ve been married for a year and we don’t have a son yet.” She begs, though her tone remains the same.

And Cassidy doesn’t need to hear anymore to decide that he should do this. Like he was listening to their story at all, the most he heard was “have sex with me,” and he agreed.

Cassidy takes her aboard the ship, he would have just had her in a horse stall if there weren’t people walking past. He takes her into his captain’s quarters, throwing her down onto his cot and pulling the skirt of her dress up, pulling off her under garments with haste. Might as well make this quick.

“No, Mr. Cassidy!” She grabs his arms, drawing him up close to her. “Let’s make it romantic.”

She’s not making this easy for him. For him this is just a favour for a girl who married an old crone that can’t get it up, yet she’s acting like this is their wedding night. “I’m not a romantic man, luv. Do yeh want this done quick?”

She shakes her head. “I want it to be special.”

Despite his exhaustion with her, he still follows her requests. He kisses her, lavishes her breasts with them, and makes her squeal. She grabs him close, giggling and begging for him to keep going. And he does. Reluctantly. More light kisses, more like he’s just pressing his lips on her body, not putting anything behind them. Sure, she’s gorgeous, and her body is beautiful, but Cassidy can’t find any reason in his right mind to justify what he’s doing. Her skin is like cream, it’s soft in his mouth, though he’d be damned if he wouldn’t rather be fucking someone, not even looking at their face, refusing to let the moment even hint at something deeper than a simple need.

Once he has his cock inside her, she’s moaning and pleading “Caaaassidy, yessssss,” it makes him uncomfortable. He’s used to loud grunting and screaming when the time comes, he can’t stand this. He just wants to get this done with, get back to drinking and starting fights for no reason at all.

She grabs him close, kissing the side of his face and laughing in his ear, he feels like he’s going deaf. He pulls his cock in and out of her, wishing he could turn her over so he couldn’t see her yowling face. But he’s close to cumming, so he might as well finish it up as is.

_ “CASSIDY!” _ She screams, giggling and digging her nails into him, sharp as daggers. He cums, and pulls out quickly after. He leaves her in a heap, breathing deeply and fanning her red face.

He leaves, dressing himself and standing on the deck, watching the moonlight glimmer on the gentle waves, shimmering like pearls and rare jewels. Cassidy pushes his hair back, off of his face, and lets the cool breeze dry the sweat off his brow. It’s such a surreal feeling, regretting having sex with a pretty girl. She is the kind of girl who only denies Cassidy’s invitations, and yet once he has her in his bed, he absolutely loathes the choice he made. He can barely focus on what thoughts are flashing past his eyes, like candle flames being snuffed out. She looked gorgeous in the candlelight, her soft curves highlighted, yet he felt nothing but disgust towards her. He still does, though that disgust primarily resides in him, not directed at her. He can’t believe that he’s done something so repulsive.

He’ll let her wake up on her own, get dressed, and leave if she so desires. But he’s not going to go back into the room until she’s left. That much he’s decided.

“Did yeh have any fun, Cassidy?” Cartwright grins at him, nudging his arm quite roughly with his bony little elbow. His grin is devilish, like what Cassidy imagined the Devil to smile like when he’d go to Church (only a few times, before his mother started taking he and his brother to the beach instead). They stand at the front of the boat, leaning over the railing and staring at the waves once more. Cassidy likes them. He wonders if he could jump in, and if he kept his head below long enough, maybe he’ll be able to breathe water. He could live under the waves, among the fish and sunken treasure and glittering sea shells. The way he envisions it, it makes him smile.

“No. Not at all.” His voice lingers, like he’s having to think deeply about this whole thing. Like he hadn’t already confirmed to himself that tonight has been a massive mistake that he wishes to never repeat. He picks at a splinter popping out of the wood, wondering when Cartwright or Esby last sanded the ship down. Cassidy bounces his fingertip on the splinter, hoping it will either break or stab through his callous.

Cartwright furrows his eyebrows, leaning on the railing and watching Cassidy. “I saw that women yeh brought back, she’s beautiful. Why are yeh so down?”

He looks over at Cartwright, shaking his head. “I don’t know. It just felt wrong. Yeh know when yeh do something, and even though yeh should love it, yeh immediately regret it and wish yeh had the foresight to reject it altogether?”

Cartwright shakes his head. “I don’t do anything I know I’ll regret. That must make me more mature than yeh, huh, Cassidy?” That Devil grin returns to his face.

Cassidy rolls his eyes. “No, yeh aren’t listening to me. I took her to bed, thinking I’d love it. But when it started happening, and during the whole thing, I wished I hadn’t even talked to her. What do yeh think that is?”

“No idea. I think yer sick. Must be, since yeh always love bringing back girls even when yeh shouldn’t.” Cartwright leaves him then, probably returning to the crew quarters (a much more spacious room where there used to be dozens of flat, wooden beds, but now only two remain, along with enough room to do a joyous jig with a girl on each arm).

Cassidy still stands there, though. Listening to the waves hitting the wood, the boat rocking gently along with the waves, the sound of seagulls squawking echoing through the darkness. He truly does love the ocean. If only she were a human, he’d never have second thoughts about monogamy.

———

It’s a surprising day when Cassidy slinks into the tavern and finds Bothwell, along with all the other lords, playing cards at their usual spot. He gets a drink and approaches them, watching from a table or two away. So far, Bothwell’s winning, as Cassidy expected, and the other lords are in discomfort. In the middle of the table, they’ve piled possibly thirty coins, most of which had to belong to Bothwell.

He’d ask, yet he wants to watch him win, without any distraction. He’s on the edge of his seat, Cassidy can’t see what cards Bothwell has, yet he still watches in awe as lord after lord folds. After a ten minute period, only one of them remains, and he looks fairly certain that he’ll win, too. After grabbing another card from the deck, he smirks, and lays three cards out. “Do you have anything better?”

Bothwell has a straight face on, avoiding even so much as a hint of what kind of  hand he has. He places the cards down on the table, spreading them so each man can see. The only man left grimaces, tipping back his chair while scoffing. Bothwell brings the coins toward himself, pouring them into his pockets.

“Yeh give me shite for being a pirate, and yet yer a gambler? A cheater, even?” Cassidy teases Bothwell, inviting him to sit down at his table. Bothwell complies, sitting down across from Cassidy and grinning at him. He missed the sincerity behind his expressions, it makes him warm seeing his expression.

“Why would you accuse me of that?” His eyes are crinkling, and Cassidy smiles. “Aren’t I ruining my reputation enough by associating with a pillaging thief?”

Cassidy chuckles, tipping his drink back. “Yeh slipped that card into the deck. There’s no way yeh didn’t.”

Bothwell raises his hands up, like he’s surrendering. “You caught me, Cassidy.  What a shame, I thought I was hiding so well.”

“At least yeh admitted it.” Cassidy grins at Bothwell. Bothwell looks more comfortable than he did the first time they spoke, even at breakfast when they were getting along better. He’s relaxing in his seat, their banter feels more genuine than last time. Like they’re both fully engaged, but it’s not intimidating trying to fill the silence between conversations. If there’s one thing Cassidy hates, it’s trying to fill a silent moment. Yet, right now he’s feeling no need to fill any silence. At the very least, the silence is comfortable, which makes Cassidy comfortable.

He takes another drink, and turns round to the bar, trying to wave one of the wenches down to bring another beer.

“Good idea, we’ll celebrate my victory.” Bothwell does the same, getting the attention of a brunette wench with two large mugs in her hands already.

“Where have yeh been?” Cassidy decides to ask, watching Bothwell pull two coins out of his vest pocket and placing them on the table, tapping the edge of one of the coins against the table.

He looks up at Cassidy, giving a faint smirk. “Well, since I work for Queen Mary, I have to do errands for her and make sure she is safe. There was a safety issue.”

God, his voice is regal like he’d assume a king to speak. Maybe he’s a king in disguise.

“What kind of safety issue? The kind where a peasant got into the castle or an actual issue?” Cassidy assumes Bothwell will laugh, but he doesn’t.

“This is serious, Cassidy. The Queen is being targeted by her husband’s supporters, and they’re overpowering her. They would overthrow and execute her if she wasn’t carrying his child.” Bothwell taps the coin firmly into the table to accentuate his point, and Cassidy feels that shame bubbling back up in his chest.

“Mate, I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was that serious.” He thanks the wench for their beers, and Bothwell hands her the two coins, so now Cassidy can’t just focus on the gold flashing between his fingers. He looks back up at Bothwell’s face, just as stern as the first time he talked to him.

He shakes his head, pouring back his beer and refusing to look at Cassidy. “I know you didn’t mean any harm.”

Bothwell places his mug on the table, walking out. Cassidy feels stuck in his seat, unsure if he should follow or let him go. So, he chases after him.

He jogs outside, finding Bothwell making his way back to the inn. “Quit following me, Cassidy.”

Cassidy stops, glaring. “Look, I’m not saying yer in over yer head, but would yeh happen to need any help defending the throne? Normally I wouldn’t offer, but yer sorry arse needs help.”

Bothwell doesn’t turn around for a while. Cassidy worries he’s already turned Bothwell against him, and was actually going well, for once. He holds his fists together tight, watching.

Bothwell sighs, turning round slowly.

“Look, I like you, Cassidy, but I have no clue if you’re trustworthy. I need you to prove you won’t try to work against Queen Mary.” Bothwell crosses his arms over his chest, staring up at Cassidy. He hadn’t realised yet that Bothwell was shorter than him, but he wouldn’t say anything about it until later.

Cassidy pulls out a dagger, the only weapon he carries on him, and Bothwell’s fingers wrap round the hilt of his sword. He nearly swings it out before Cassidy holds out one hand, raising the blade and dragging it across his palm. He grunts and whimpers at the pain of it, his face still twisting even when he’s taken the blade away from his skin. “How about a blood promise?”

Bothwell draws nearer, concern prominent on his face. “Why would you hurt yourself like that?” He holds Cassidy’s bleeding hand up to the light, as gently as he can.

“Yeh’ve never made a blood promise? C’mon.” Cassidy takes the blade and gestures at Bothwell to hold his hand out, giving the dagger to him as well.

“I have, but children do that, not adults, people who should know better.” Bothwell takes the blade anyway, closing his fist around the blade and sliding it over his palm quickly, only wincing mildly when he unveils the angry red mark.

Cassidy grins, slapping his wounded hand against Bothwell’s, shaking it quickly. “Guess we’re both children, then.”

**Author's Note:**

> First off, apologies for being inaccurate. Though, Reign is likely an inaccurate mess of a show, and I only watched it for Adam Croasdell. Who made watching the show worth it, by the way. But also, this *totally* isn’t wish-fulfillment due to Cassarius not working out. No way at all.


End file.
